


Rose Fever

by Bethann, SusanaR



Series: Teenaged Faramir AU of AU of Legendary Friendship and Desperate Hours AUs [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War of the Ring, Sickfic, Spanking, Teenage Legolas, teenage Faramir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:37:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Children in Minas Tirith are falling ill with Rose Fever. Faramir isn’t worried, because he thinks that he must have already had it as a child. Legolas isn’t worried, because he doesn’t think that he can catch human illnesses at all.





	1. Chapter 1

The warm summer sunlight poured down on the First Level of Minas Tirith. The white city sparkled in the sun, and vibrant summer blooms perfumed its gardens. Colorful kites flown by children in various of the city’s gardens bedecked the sky. Vendors called out their wares and minstrels played for coins while children splashed happily in the large fountains of the main First Level garden. 

The cheerful noise, the bright colors, and the tantalizing food smells gave a festival air to the stone courtyard where over one hundred of Gondor’s war refugees were making their final preparations to travel to the fiefdom of Lossarnach to help with the harvest there. And hopefully, to find new homes and lives there as well. 

Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, who was newly known to be the heir presumptive to the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, watched and assisted in the preparations with a smile on his young face. The teenaged Steward and his staff had been very involved in making arrangements for the refugees, mostly widows and young orphans, to find lodgings and paid work tending and harvesting crops and herbs on the estates of Gondor’s lords and farmers. 

Under a brilliant blue sky with only a scattering of puffy white clouds, the widows and their older children packed wagons and saddle bags with all of their remaining worldly goods. Faramir’s step-mother, Arwen the Queen, and her ladies assisted the adult refugees, as well as contributing new blankets and clothing for the children, some of which they had sewn with their own hands. The ladies and their maids and their guards also loaded dried goods donated by the merchants of the city and other ladies of Gondor, as well as some purchased by Arwen on behalf of the bereft Gondorians leaving for their new lives. 

Meanwhile, Faramir and his friends helped out by entertaining the children, which was a far more agreeable task, to Faramir’s mind!

“Legolas!” a spritely five year old girl named Langwen called out to Faramir’s elven friend delightedly, “Watch how much faster I’ve gotten! I can even beat Ramion sometimes at the short distances!” 

“Really? Let’s see!” Legolas cheered, while Faramir gave Langwen’s loving and long-suffering fourteen year old brother Ramion an encouraging smile. 

“Me too! Me too! I want to race too!” called three or four other grinning children. 

“Good idea,” said Faramir’s squire Herion to his lord under his breath, “this should tire them out nicely for riding in the wagons!” 

“We can but hope,” Faramir replied with a grin of his own, “And you and Herdestir are going to help.” 

Herion sighed, but he obeyed with an indulgent smile for Faramir, and a teasing glance towards his elder brother Herdestir, a knight in service to Lord Angbor of Lamedon. 

Herdestir was a contemporary of Boromir’s, one of Faramir’s brother’s few surviving army academy friends. He and Herion gamely helped Faramir and the beleaguered Legolas to sort out which combinations of children would make competitive relay teams. 

“Can Legolas be on my team?” Langwen asked excitedly. 

“I don’t see why not,” Herdestir replied accommodatingly, before going on to grin teasingly at Legolas, Faramir, and his own brother, “That is, if you don’t mind, Prince Legolas? You, Faramir, and my own baby brother aren’t that much older than this lot, after all.” 

It was Faramir’s turn to mutter under his breath, “Oh, thank you ever so much, Herdestir,” but with all the happy little faces looking up at him, the eighteen year old Steward couldn’t very well tell them ‘no.’ 

Faramir didn’t really take serious offense at Herdestir’s teasing. In fact, it was rather nice to have one of his older brother’s friends still around to tease him. Captain Tavasond, Boromir’s best surviving friend, was also in Minas Tirith, but he was more inclined to lecture Faramir than tease him, these days. Maybe that was just because Faramir had scared him by pulling rank in order to confront a murderous blackmailer without armor, and Tavasond would calm down again later. Faramir hoped so. Aragorn had mostly forgiven Faramir for that particular miscalculation, and so had Gimli and Legolas, but Tavasond was still a little irritated. 

It was too fine a day to think of troubles like that, Faramir decided. It was almost a perfect day for a race, in fact. And normally Faramir loved running, and pitting himself against Legolas was always a fun challenge. The elven prince was athletic and competitive, yet without taking such contests too seriously. On the other hand, Faramir always felt badly about beating Herion, because his squire could become discouraged with himself over the matter, even though Herion was barely a year older than Faramir. 

Herion might actually get a chance to outsprint his lord today, though. Faramir was fighting a fairly severe headache. He had been off and on for the past two and a half weeks, ever since Aragorn found out that his ward, and newly revealed son, had been in the habit of adding a teaspoon of the stimulant potion lendrestil to his afternoon coffee. 

The coffee itself Aragorn had almost entirely given in on, despite his concern that it would affect Faramir’s growth. 

“Compromises are necessary,” the King had said, balancing indulgence with sternness as he told Faramir, “But the lendrestil is non-negotiable. You will stop taking it unless you have my explicit permission to do so. It is only meant for emergencies, such as long drawn-out battles and scouting behind enemy lines. The effect it has on your heart rate and your blood circulation is too strong for you to take it as a matter of course.” 

“But getting the patrol schedules, harvest plans, and numbers of refugees straightened out, all at the same time, was an emergency!” Faramir had protested. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Aragorn had remonstrated firmly, albeit not without some sympathy, “I am proud of how very dutiful you are, Faramir. Both as my son,” Aragorn smiled proudly as he said that, which lifted Faramir’s spirits despite the lecture, “and as my Steward,” the King continued, “However, administrative matters are almost never an emergency. So the tax rolls do not get finalized before the next council session, what of it? We will just send a message to that effect along to the council members who will attend, along with a revised estimate of when the rolls are expected to be done.” 

“You are a disaster as an administrator,” Faramir said, before he thought better of it. 

Fortunately all that got from Aragorn was a laugh, “You are not the first to say so, ion-muin-nin. But the facts remain that I am your father, and your King. You will do as I say, and if something important is not finished on time because you are no longer permitted to drug yourself into unnatural wakefulness and attention, then I will take responsibility for it. I will say that I required your attention on other matters. And it will be true, will it not? I insist that you sleep, spar, and spend time doing things which you like to do, as well as being Gondor’s Steward and Ithilien’s new prince.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir had conceded, albeit unhappily. Well, not entirely unhappily. His life had certainly become more pleasant and full since Aragorn began assisting with how Faramir’s schedule was structured. But Faramir did not like being told how to manage his affairs, just because he was under age and someone’s son again! However much he liked being Aragorn’s son. 

“That’s the third time you’ve called me ‘Sir’ in private today, Faramir my son,” Aragorn had pointed out, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement, “Thrice more, and you owe me an hour of your time on Seventh Day.” 

Faramir had sighed at that, but made no other protest. In truth, being punished by having to spend time with Aragorn, doing whatever Aragorn wanted him to do, was almost never really a punishment. Faramir enjoyed his father’s company, and liked that Aragorn wanted to spend his free time with Faramir. It was greatly in contrast to how Denethor had felt about Faramir, but Faramir didn’t bother to think about that very often. He just thanked Eru and the Valar for his new happiness, even as he still missed his brother. 

Faramir thought that Boromir would have liked being Aragorn’s Steward, too. At least once he got used to the idea of not ruling Gondor himself after Denethor. Faramir truly hoped that Boromir wouldn’t be angry with him for telling Aragorn that the King was his father. Boromir had known since his mother’s death that his baby brother was in fact the hero Thorongil’s son, and not Boromir’s full brother. But knowing that, and accepting that Faramir had let Aragorn and the rest of Middle Earth know it, were two entirely different things. 

It had always been important to Faramir that he make Boromir proud of him. It was now important to him to make Aragorn proud of him, too. And so the young Steward hadn’t told his new father how painful the headaches from stopping the lendrestil had gotten in the past day. They had been mild and nagging at first, as Aragorn had gradually reduced the amount of lendrestil Faramir was allowed every afternoon, until he got none at all just yesterday. Aragorn had said that the headache would be a little worse today, and maybe even for the next several days. 

Nor had he been particularly sympathetic as he did so! 

“You’re lucky that I’d only just strapped you for defying my will and putting yourself in danger directly before I found out about the stimulant abuse, and that I didn’t have the heart to punish you further,” Aragorn had lectured, “Yes, I’d never told you specifically not to abuse lendrestil, but you were a ranger, Faramir. You’re old enough and experienced enough to know better than that.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir had said in a long-suffering manner, earning him a half-serious swat but also a chuckle from his similarly long-suffering father. Faramir hadn’t bothered to tell Aragorn about the emergency supply of lendrestil in a pouch hidden inside a hollow book on historical rain fall records. It was, after all, for emergencies. 

And going about his normal daily routine wasn’t an emergency. Even if he did have to join a relay race! 

And so it was that Faramir found himself sprinting flat out across the courtyard and adjoining garden in the final leg of the relay race, with his opponents being Legolas, Herion, and Langwen’s fourteen year old brother Ramion. In the past, Faramir had often edged out Legolas by a pace or two in short distance runs, and had always finished well ahead of Herion. 

But today, Legolas clearly won, even with a late start because his relay partner, Langwen, had been distracted by a butterfly and therefore lagged behind the other runners on her leg of the race. Faramir even had to struggle to beat Herion! And Ramion did surprisingly well too.

“Well-run!” Faramir gasped to all three of his competitors, resting a hand against a tall tree while he waited for his vision to stop threatening to black out. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Herion said with a proud smile, “I’ve been running with Herdestir every morning this past month. I think it’s made a difference.” 

“I should well say it has,” Legolas praised the squire, after a concerned look in Faramir’s direction. 

Faramir waved off the concern. He would normally have shaken his head, but that would only cause him more pain today. 

“You run like the wind, Lord Legolas!” the out-of-breath Ramion said admiringly. 

“Thank you, but you may address me by name,” Legolas reminded Ramion graciously. 

The youth blushed. Herdestir saved Ramion further embarrassment by patting his shoulder and complimenting, “Ramion, I’m sorry indeed that you’re leaving the city. You’ll be fifteen by this autumn, old enough to compete in the Harvest Games on the Pelennor. I would certainly feel safe wagering my money on you in the early sprints, and maybe even in some of the team events! My brother is a good runner, and Faramir and Legolas are exceptionally fast. You did very well.” 

“Thank you, Sir Herdestir,” Ramion managed, looking almost overcome with pride, “It helps that I have to keep up with Langwen. She can be surprisingly fast when she sees a dog she wants to pet, or a flower she wants to show me.” 

“I imagine so,” said Legolas with a light laugh, as Langwen herself jumped into his arms to congratulate him on their win and thank him for racing with her. 

“I’m going to miss the stories that you tell, Legolas!” Langwen piped sadly, clasping her little arms around Legolas again. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Langwen,” Legolas replied kindly, “But my friend Gimli and I went with Faramir and your new King to see the town in Lossarnach where you will be living, and it’s beautiful. The fields are full of flowers, the brooks sing, and there are so many animals. I truly do think that you’ll love it there.” 

“I hope that I will,” Langwen said with a tremulous smile, “My Papa always wanted us to move to the countryside and work on our own farm. He was saving money so we could, before the orcs killed him in on the Paramour.” 

“The plain outside the city is called the Pelennor, Sunshine,” Ramion gently corrected his sister, “And our Father would want for us to be happy. And for you and me to keep doing our best to help Mother. At least until I get old enough to join the Army next year, and then maybe I can earn enough coin for me to buy a farm for you and Mother, eh?” 

“I don’t want you to join the Army, Ramion,” Langwen said with some concern, “I don’t want you to die like Papa did!”

Faramir had no idea what to say to comfort Langwen, or to alleviate the crushed expression from Ramion’s face. Of course Ramion wanted to join the Army, because that was what many brave young men did. And Ramion was a strong, hard-working, good-natured lad, he’d do well there, provided he was trained by kind and competent officers, which Faramir would do his best to personally make sure of. 

“Don’t fret, little flower,” Herdestir reassured Langwen with great compassion, “The War is over. ‘Tis safer to be in the Army, now. Your brother will learn to be a fine soldier, just like your father. And his comrades-in-arms, like my brother and me, we’ll watch Ramion’s back, as he watches ours.” 

“Oh, well. That should be fine enough, then,” Langwen allowed, still holding onto Legolas. 

Ramion gave Herdestir a deeply grateful look, then promised his sister, “And I’ll be very careful, my sister. I swear it. And for now, you’ll just have to put up with my company. I’m not old enough for the Army, yet.” 

And if Faramir’s father the King had his way, Ramion wouldn’t be old enough for another three years. Aragorn was thinking of raising the minimum age for active army service to eighteen years old. Or even twenty, if he could get away with it. Faramir was supporting the move to eighteen, Faramir’s own age, but had stood the line with the other Council lords on twenty. Faramir had also proposed an amendment to the proposed new law, to allow that talented lads who knew their letters such as Ramion could be taken into the Army Academy and trained to be officers, even if they were common-born. 

“I very much like the idea of opening the Army Academy to teenagers without noble connections or wealthy families,” Aragorn had said warmly, upon Faramir’s explaining his proposals, “however, Gondor’s Academy will no longer be sending youths younger than eighteen years of age to serve on the borders. Not under my reign.” 

“But I was . . .” 

“Yes, I know that you were fifteen when you were first sent to the Ithilien rangers as a lieutenant, Faramir,” Aragorn recognized patiently, “And you did very well there. You should be proud of that. But if I had had the raising of you, you wouldn’t have been posted where you were apt to see combat at that age.” 

“By that argument, you wouldn’t be sending me out to command sweep patrols, or to lead the new White Company in Ithilien later this summer,” Faramir argued, “I’m perfectly capable of performing all of my duties, Sire! Including the martial ones.” 

“As am I,” Leglas pointed out indignantly, “And I’m not of age, not by my people’s standards.” 

“Oh, calm down, the both of you,” Gimli commanded, “Nay, all three of you! What’s done is done, but Gondor is no longer at war anymore. No harm in letting these lads growing up in more peaceful days get more training and seasoning before they face bandits or orcs. Time enough to fight, after all!” 

Legolas and Faramir had both sighed, and Aragorn had laughed, but the topic was dropped. If it came up again, Faramir resolved to remember Langwen, and her fears for her brother, and maybe tone down his objections to Aragorn’s and Arwen’s preference for pushing the minimum age for army service as high as twenty. 

But in the meantime, Langwen was happy again, and then even happier when Herdestir offered to buy fruit ices for all of the children. And also for his brother, Faramir, and Legolas. 

Faramir had a weakness for fruit ice that far exceeded his displeasure with Herdestir’s teasingly characterizing him as a child again. 

“Thank you, Herdestir. I’d like a cherry one, please,” Faramir requested, “And Legolas usually prefers raspberry.” 

“And Herion wants a blackberry ice with sweet cream,” Herdestir summed up, making sure he got a confirming nod from his younger brother before taking off with Ramion and two other lads who had volunteered to help him carry the ices back from the stall across the garden. 

“You do very well with the children, Faramir and Legolas, the both of you,” Queen Arwen took a break from assisting with the packing to praise her step-son and long-time family friend as she offered Faramir a canteen of iced mint tea, and Legolas another with iced hibiscus tea. 

“Thank you, Arwen,” said Faramir, blushing at the compliment, “It is something that I’m happy to help with. But I’m afraid that Legolas, Herion, and I have to leave to get ready for patrol.” 

“I understand. Do take Orohael and Brithadan back with you,” the Queen reminded Faramir affectionately, “And you should ask Aragorn for something to ease your headache ‘ere you leave the city with your patrol.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Faramir agreed. And he wasn’t lying, he agreed that he perhaps should ask the King for a pain relieving draught, although he was rather surprised that Arwen could tell just from looking at Faramir that he would benefit from one. But Faramir wasn’t going to ask for one. So far as Aragorn was concerned, this was Faramir’s fault for taking lendrestil so liberally in the first place. Faramir wasn’t going to risk making his father think he was weak just to be relieved of a headache! 

“Have a good and safe ride, ion-nin, Legolas muin,” Arwen wished them, before going back to her tasks. 

Herdestir returned with not only ices for all of the children who had been racing, and his brother, Faramir, and Legolas, but also with a tray of ices for some of the children who would not be leaving the refugee shelters in Minas Tirith with their families until later in the month.

“I know that some of the little ones are sick with Rose Fever, Mistress Talveth,” the tall knight with kind dark eyes said to the widow who oversaw the shelter, “I thought that a cool treat might brighten their day, at least a little.” 

“Sir Herdestir, that is so very kind of you,” the iron-willed woman thanked him with a rare smile, “I am sure it will. And it was very kind of the King to send healers, and of Princes Faramir and Legolas to read to the children yesterday, as well.” 

“Yes, it was,” Herdestir agreed, with a smile of his own for Faramir and Legolas, “Please don’t fault my own baby brother for not having joined them. Herion only had a very light case of Rose Fever as a tot. I asked him to stay behind and see to his duties at the Citadel. I’m afraid that he could catch the Rose Fever again, and it’s much worse when you’re nearly grown.” 

“I should say it is!” Mistress Talves said firmly, “As a matter of fact, get out of here, young Lord Herion! You shouldn’t even be playing with the healthy children today, as even they might be catching!” 

Herdestir paled slightly, “Herion, I didn’t even think of that. Just as well you’re off with their highnesses for the Pelennor. Please promise me that you’ll let Prince Faramir know at once if you start feeling ill?” 

“I will, iaur muindor, I promise,” Herion agreed, despite his blush at Herdestir’s not uncustomary overprotectiveness. Herdestir was the eldest of the five sons of Lord Maldor, a cousin of the Lord of Lamedon. Herion was the youngest, and all three of his middle brothers had died during the past decade of battles. Faramir’s squire was much cherished by Herdestir, as the only brother he had left in Middle Earth. 

“And you have already had the Rose Fever, have you not, Prince Faramir? And Prince Legolas has, as well?” Mistress Talves asked worriedly. 

“I have,” Faramir replied reassuringly, qualifying that answer with a silent, ‘I think.’ Faramir’s governess had nursed him through several fevers when he was a small child. Surely one of them had been Rose Fever? 

“And I’m not susceptible to human ailments, Mistress, you need have no fears for me,” Legolas assured her. 

“Faramir, if Herion sickens, you’ve enough men to send him home with an escort, have you not?” Herdestir inquired, with another concerned glance for his younger brother. 

Faramir assured Herdestir in between bites of cherry ice, “If anyone in the patrol takes sick, we are well prepared. Most of us have battlefield healer training, at the least.” Faramir had a little more than that now, since Aragorn so liked teaching his son of healing matters. Faramir didn’t mind. He liked to help people, and he liked spending time with his father. 

“I am sure, Faramir, but Rose Fever can come on very quickly,” Herdestir said worriedly, “At first all a lad has is a headache at mid-day, and then by late afternoon he’s raving and running a dangerously high fever.” 

“If needed, our patrol’s horn can call a trained healer from the city within only a few hours,” Faramir explained, “King Elessar himself is one of the healers who responds to such calls, when his other duties allow.” 

“Your King is a very good healer, I can vouch for that,” Legolas added comfortingly. 

“Oh, no, Prince Legolas,” simpered Miss Thillien, one of Arwen’s handmaidens, who’d taken the opportunity to leave the other women at their packing and stalk her favorite prey again, “Were you hurt, fighting so bravely during the Ring War?” 

“Erm,” said Legolas awkwardly, trying to step behind Faramir in order to get further away from pretty Thillien, “No. Not me. Others, I mean.” 

“All will be well, Thillien,” Faramir said confidently to the fluttering beauty, “But for now, Prince Legolas and I must depart. Do watch out for our Queen my dear step-mother.” 

“I will, Prince Faramir,” Thillien promised, “Will you and Legolas be back in time for the dancing in Merethrond tomorrow night? You are both such very wonderful dancers, and I know that Alusina and I would be just devastated if you cannot partner us again.” 

It was Faramir’s turn to struggle to find words. He was very fond of Alusina, whom he’d known since childhood, but it was Eowyn of Rohan who held his heart. 

“We’ll try to return by then, Thillien,” Faramir replied at last, hoping that the the dark-eyed Arnorian handmaiden would be satisfied with that. 

Fortunately, Thillien was. 

“That girl is worse than a remora around a shark, Faramir!” Legolas complained, once they were out of Thillien’s hearing range. 

“I know she’s a little overwhelming, Legolas. I’ll ask Arwen to talk to her about it,” Faramir offered. 

“You don’t have to, I can handle it. Her, and the others, it’s just . . .” Legolas sighed, “It is nice, seeing so many different things here in Minas Tirith, especially now that I am out of Gimli’s bad books and can be out and about with just you and Herion and a few armed friends. But I do miss some things about home. One of them being that no ladies actually flirt with me! They may pinch my cheeks and coo about what a fine ellon I am growing up to be, but they wouldn’t dream of trying to court someone not of age.” 

“You do well enough with Langwen,” Faramir teased, trying to cheer his friend up, while making a mental note to let Gimli know that the perfumed masses needed another quiet word of warning. 

Legolas laughed, “Langwen is a sweet child who only wants my friendship, which I am honored to give her. If Thillien keeps giving me doe-eyes without saying anything of substance, I don’t know what to say or do in reply to that! At least your Alusina has a brain, hide it though she may.” 

“Please don’t call her ‘my Alusina’ in front of Eowyn,” Faramir pleaded, “Or anyone else, for that matter!”

“No,” Legolas agreed with another laugh, “It would not do for your betrothed’s first action upon returning to Gondor being to challenge the fair and delicate Alusina to a duel!” 

“Maybe it would help if Eowyn challenged her to a horse race,” Faramir theorized, “My love would win, but Alusina can hold her own, and has her own falcon for hunting most beautifully trained. It might give them something to talk about, without Alusina annoying Eowyn.” 

“Maybe,” Legolas allowed, “It couldn’t hurt to try, I suppose. I thought that Eowyn was going to set poor Alusina on fire with her eyes alone for daring to flirt with you after your betrothal was announced, right before Eowyn left for Rohan with Eomer!” 

“Will you go hunting with us this fall, to even out the party?” Faramir asked, trying to make it clear that he would be fine with either answer.

“Of course I will. Alusina isn’t bad to spend time with when she forgets to act like an airhead, and even then she is nowhere near so overwhelming as Thillien.” 

The two young princes and their companions took a slightly more circuitous route back up to the Citadel, in order to meet Legolas’ guardian Gimli where he was working on the wall with his fellow dwarves. And also with some human stone masons, who had been hand picked by Gimli for their competence. At Legolas’ request, they stopped at a crowded inn to pick up a flask of cold ale for Gimli. 

“Ah, there you are, Lad!” the dwarf said warmly, putting down his tools and smiling at Legolas. 

“Here we are, sorry that we are running a little late,” Legolas agreed, “I got you a flask of that ale you have taken a liking to.” 

“That’s very thoughtful of you, lamb. It surely is welcome, the sun has gotten hot.” 

Gimli turned to his human assistant, “Stonemason Himelon, if you could take over here for the day, I would very much appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Lord Gimli,” the man agreed, with an eager smile. 

“Just Gimli,” the plain spoken dwarven hero reminded Himelon. 

It might have been Faramir’s imagination, but he thought that Gimli looked wistfully back at the wall as they walked away. 

“Elvellon, if you need to continue working, I could stay here with you. I am sure that Faramir and his men can handle the patrol without us,” Legolas offered, reluctantly but sincerely. Faramir knew that it was the young elf who enjoyed getting out of the city, and the dwarf who would be just as happy staying within Minas Tirith, with his tools and his work and his friends and ward. 

“Of course not, my lad!” Gimli objected, “I’ve said that we’re going, and we’re going. It will be nice to feel the wind in my face on such a fine day as today. And I very much like Amethyst, my new mare.” 

Legolas, Aragorn, and Faramir had spent quite some time with the new royal Horsemaster, working to find just the right horse for Gimli. Strong, with good endurance, but not too tall, and friendly yet determined in temperament. It was heartening to know that the effort seemed to have pleased the dwarf. 

In short time they were back in the Citadel’s main courtyard, armored, armed, and mounted. Faramir looked over his men, soldiers from the Army with their commander, Captain-the-Lord Minalcar, as Faramir’s second in command. With them rode Legolas and Gimli, and Faramir’s guards, Orohael and Brithadan. 

Well, rather, Aragorn’s guards, but now they were Faramir’s, too. The truth of the Steward’s parentage had been announced to the King’s Council, although a formal announcement to the Reunited Kingoms at large would not be made until the Harvest Festival in the fall. But the new King was taking no chances with his son’s safety. And not just because Faramir was rather important to the Reunited Kingdoms, but also because Aragorn loved him dearly. It always made Faramir’s heart warm, to realize that anew. 

As he did yet again, as Aragorn embraced him firmly, armor and arms and all. 

“Do be careful, ion-nin,” Aragorn ordered, his hand gently but firmly cupping the back of Faramir’s neck as he spoke, “And happy riding.” 

“I will, Sir. I mean, Aragorn,” Faramir amended, at his father’s faint frown. 

“So formal, my Faramir,” the King teased fondly, but with a hint of sternness, “That makes six times you’ve called me ‘sir’ since this morning. And that means that you are with me after lunch in the House of Healing on Seventh Day.” 

Faramir couldn’t hold back a rueful laugh, “Yes, Sir,” he teased back, “Although I am hoping that we do not spend the entire time crushing sun berries again! Their pungent aroma makes me sneeze. Oh, and may I please have that last ‘sir’ on credit?” 

Aragorn chuckled, and patted the side of Faramir’s head fondly, “I suppose I can allow that, Brat. And no more sun berries for us. They’re past their prime. We’ll likely do rounds instead.” 

“I like that better,” Faramir assured his father, before turning to mount his horse while Aragorn exchanged farewells with Legolas and Gimli, and then imparted last minute instructions to Orohael. That last made Faramir want to roll his eyes. As much as Faramir liked the friendly Orohael, the Steward was not a child, and he didn’t need a minder! But Faramir was too dignified to roll his eyes at his lord father in public. 

“Where does our route lie on this fair day, your highness?” asked Captain-the-Lord Minalcar, once they’d left the city. 

“Towards the River Erui, to the north and west,” Faramir answered, “We’re to make sure that the roads coming from the northern fiefdoms and the mountains are clear. We should also inform any farmers who have returned to their fields since our last patrol that we are there to help them, and find out if they and their neighbors have any specific concerns.” 

They made good speed on the first leg of their journey. Legolas, Gimli, and Herion were good company, as always, and it was pleasant to be able to spend some time with Minalcar as well. 

“Lord Minalcar was my brother Boromir’s squire, before he was knighted and became a lieutenant and then a captain in the Army,” Faramir explained to Legolas and Gimli. 

“A great honor,” Gimli said, a little gruffly, “It is no wonder you made Captain so young if you were trained by the likes of him, Captain. I’ve never seen a man swing a sword better, nor a large man so gifted at teaching his warrior-like skills to those smaller than him.” 

Faramir smiled sadly, mourning Boromir still but glad that his brother had spent his last weeks with kind folk who had valued him. 

“Oh, aye, Boromir was a fine teacher,” Minalcar agreed with a bittersweet smile, “Although I was a miserably smug little swaggerer when he first took me on. I’d graduated first in my class at the academy, I was the only son of an important lord, and I didn’t think that I had that much left to learn. The first thing that Boromir did was send me up against that one,” Minalcar nodded towards Faramir, “in a duel. Our Prince there was just turned thirteen, and skinny as a rail.” 

“How badly did he embarrass you?” Legolas asked, with a soft smile. 

Minalcar laughed at his own youthful foolishness, “Badly enough to make me re-think whether skinny archers could make good soldiers.” 

“As I recall, it was you who won the next four or five times we matched blades after that,” Faramir said, with a rueful grin of his own, despite his throbbing headache. 

“Aye, because by then, I knew that you were a sneaky little snot and that I had to take you seriously as an opponent despite your size and bookishness,” Minalcar said fondly, “And then you won our sixth contest with a move that I had taught you, insult to injury.” 

“Well, that just means that you were a good teacher, Sir Minalcar,” Legolas pointed out, “I know that it made most of my teachers proud when I out-shot them and out-matched them.” 

“What about the others?” Gimli asked, with what Faramir thought was admirably well-hidden concern. 

“I don’t know, actually. The ones who didn’t take it well were usually assigned elsewhere,” Legolas replied calmly, seemingly unaware of the concealed worry in his guardian’s voice. 

“The more fools them,” Minalcar scoffed, “I learned a lot from Faramir, as well as Boromir. That’s part of why I picked Laingened for my squire.” Minalcar nodded to the slender blond lad riding beside Herion, “He was supposed to leave the Academy before the Battle of the Pelennor and go back to his father’s fiefdom in the mountains, but, like some of his classmates, he stayed in Minas Tirith. He brought us our water and mended our arms when we were in the city during the siege. Then, when he was determined to come with the allied armies to the Black Gate, I made him my squire. He’ll never be a giant, and he’d rather read a book than swing a sword. But when King Elessar gave the order to let the Southrons surrender, and I told my men to ignore it, because the battle-anger was upon me and I thought that they’d earned their deaths, it was Laingened who got in front of us and wouldn’t stand down. I owe him and his courage my not failing my honor and becoming a monster for it. In return for that, I’m determined to make sure he learns a warrior’s trade well enough to stay alive, no matter what future dangers he faces.” 

“I remember Laingened a little, from the Academy,” Faramir said thoughtfully, reaching up with one hand to rub his head as they rode beyond sight of Minas Tirith, “He was often in the library, and sometimes asked me for help with his essays.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Minalcar said, with an affectionate glance towards his chattering squire, “And he worships you, Prince Faramir.” 

Faramir didn’t know what to say to that at first. It wasn’t just his head hurting, he felt like he was thinking through mud. Finally, he said, “I’d be happy to spend more time with him. Why don’t you and he join us for arms practice sometimes at the Citadel?” 

“We’d be honored.” 

“Good. I’ll ask Herion to send you the practice schedules, although I must warn you, they do frequently change without warning.” Given all of the matters which regularly and irregularly required Aragorn’s or Faramir’s attention, it was difficult to keep to a set schedule. 

It had so far been an uneventful patrol, much to Faramir’s relief, given the burning pain in his head and his overall feeling of sluggishness. The roads so far were well and clear, and the farms that they had stopped at were thriving. These homesteads had been the first recipients of aid from the refugees living in Minas Tirith, so Faramir and Legolas had the opportunity to see some familiar faces, doing well in their new lives. 

“I hope that Langwen and Ramion will fare as well in Lossarnach,” Legolas remarked to Faramir while they drank fresh water from a farmer’s well. 

“I hope so too. We can go and check on them, if you like. Lossarnach is not a far ride,” Faramir offered. 

“Maybe. If work on the gardens and the wall is going well,” Legolas replied. 

“It has so far,” Faramir reassured him, dipping his canteen into the bucket of cold well water again and then pouring it over his head before refilling it a last time and remounting. The young human prince felt like he was boiling alive. 

Legolas gave him a strange look for soaking his hair and armor, and asked, “Are you well, Faramir? You’ve been rubbing your head since we set out a few hours ago.” 

“I still have a headache from the lendrestil withdrawal,” Faramir explained with a sigh, “Aragorn says that it’s my own fault.” 

“That wasn’t particularly kind of him,” Legolas criticized. He’d been more on Faramir’s side about the whole matter, which Faramir appreciated. 

Gimli, riding beside them as they set out again, asked, “Are you sure that you should be riding further out with such a headache, Faramir lad? I rather think that Aragorn didn’t intend that you suffer so, no matter how irritated he was about your taking too much of that stimulant drug.” 

“It’s fine,” said Faramir shortly, “And we need to press on. Captain!” he called to Minalcar, “Let’s head towards the tributary of the River Erui. If there are bandits staking out this road,” which they’d happily seen no evidence of, “that would be a good place to camp.” 

“As you say, highness,” Minalcar agreed with an approving nod, then gave the corresponding orders. 

Faramir left him to it. Despite his dismissal of Gimli’s concern, the Steward was wondering whether he should perhaps hand command of the patrol over to Minalcar. He certainly wasn’t feeling his best. The headache was still there, and the feeling as if he was burning alive. He was also beginning to feel nauseated and dizzy, as if he had a wound which had gone bad. 

“Faramir?” Legolas ventured, now clearly concerned as well, “Are you well?” 

“Um. A little dizzy,” Faramir admitted unhappily. With an internal sigh of self-disgust, he urged his mare Dapple forward so that he could speak to Captain Minalcar quietly. Legolas followed, as did Gimli. 

“Minalcar, you have command,” Faramir said quietly, “I’m not feeling particularly well. Not badly enough to turn back, but I don’t want my inattention to detail to result in someone’s injury.” 

“Aye, my Prince, I have the command,” Minalcar accepted, albeit with some unease, “It would be safe enough for us to split the patrol, and you go back to Minas Tirith.” 

“I think that’s a good idea, Faramir lad,” Gimli endorsed firmly. 

“No, the patrol is my responsibility,” Faramir refused firmly, “Just because I don’t feel at my best doesn’t mean I can’t fulfill my duties.” 

“If you feel badly enough to turn over command, then we should at least have a better look at you and get you some more water,” Gimli argued, as the patrol rode up to the point where the swiftly flowing Lark brook, a tributary of the River Erui, flowed into the narrow, deep waters of the Erui itself. 

Faramir was afraid that if he stopped and got off his horse, he might not successfully get back up. So despite the lure of taking a drink from the clear singing brook, he refused, “No. If we stop again we’ll get behind schedule.” 

“What schedule?” Legolas asked, baffled. 

“I . . . I meant for us to get to River Watch keep, then turn and go back to Emyn Arnen through the mountains,” Faramir said, beginning to feel confused and disoriented as well as dizzy. 

“Emyn Arnen, your highness?” Minalcar asked, “But that’s in the other direction than we’ve gone. Captain Anborn led a patrol off towards Ithilien two days ago. Surely you mean that we should return to Minas Tirth?” 

“Yes, yes,” Faramir said, wishing that Minalcar wouldn’t speak so loudly. 

“Faramir, stop,” Gimli ordered, “It’s clear that you’re not feeling quite yourself, lad. Captain Minalcar can take these men on to River Watch if that’s so very important, and the five of us can head back to the city.” 

“No, I’m fine,” Faramir insisted, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Off your horse, now, lad,” Gimli directed firmly. 

“I don’t need a break,” Faramir dismissed the concern again. 

“Your Highness, please do as Lord Gimli suggests,” Orohael said kindly but decisively, “After we’ve looked you over, if you are indeed well enough to continue, then we can continue. If not, then Brithadan and I, and Lord Gimli and Prince Legolas, can accompany you back to the city.” 

“Orohael, I’m fine, there’s no need to slow our progress towards Emyn Arnen,” Faramir said determinedly. He didn’t hear what reply Orohael made, because just then the feeling that his blood was boiling in his skin intensified, and the gurgling of the river turned into a rushing roar. 

Faramir lost track of where he was and what he was doing, and for how long he wasn’t sure. When he came to, he was lying a horse blanket on the ground, with his head in Legolas’ lap. Orohael and Gimli were beside him, speaking loudly and intently as they finished taking Faramir’s chest armor off. 

“What . . . what are you doing?” Faramir asked uneasily, because although he couldn’t remember exactly what he had been doing, he was sure that he should be riding instead of lying on the ground. 

“Hush, your Highness,” Orohael commanded, “And try to sit up. We need to get your tunic and your shirt off and cool you down.” 

“What?” 

“Help me sit Faramir up, lamb,” Gimli said to Legolas. 

Faramir tried to cooperate with this plan, even though it didn’t make very much sense to him, because it seemed to be important to his friends. 

And he did feel a little better once he was stripped to bare skin, save for his leggings. 

Orohael didn’t seem happy, though. The guard’s face went paler than Faramir had ever seen it when he saw his Prince’s bare chest. 

“Orohael? What’s wrong?” Faramir asked. 

“You have Rose Fever, my Prince,” the former northern ranger told him gently, “We need to get you back to Minas Tirith and to a trained healer as fast as we can.” 

“We’ve already called for the healer,” someone else said, and then Faramir must have lost consciousness. 

The next thing he knew, he was being held in front of Orohael in the saddle, dressed in his clothes again but not his armor. 

“Where are we going?” Faramir asked hoarsely, “And where is my horse?” 

“Minas Tirith,” Legolas said worriedly from over Faramir’s left shoulder, “The healers will meet us sooner, though. You’re going to be fine, Faramir.” 

With that reassurance, Faramir fell back asleep. He didn’t wake up again until he felt his entire body plunged into water so cold that it made him scream in shock.

“Shh, Faramir, all’s well, ion-nin,” Faramir heard Aragorn’s voice say, then saw his father’s concerned face beside him as the King continued, “Your fever is too high, so we had to stop to cool you down in the brook.” 

“It’s . . . too cold,” Faramir protested, as Aragorn’s arms and Gimli’s held him in the fast flowing water. 

“I know, son, I know it is,” Aragorn comforted, “But it must be done.” 

Despite the cold, Faramir passed out again. He woke enough to look up and see starlight from the circle of Aragorn’s arms, and realize that he was once again on a horse, before falling asleep. 

The next time Faramir woke, he was in his own bed, with Aragorn smiling at him. A delighted, relieved smile. 

“Your fever has broken, ion-nin,” Aragorn assured him, “I need you to drink another glass of water for me, then you can get some real sleep.” 

Faramir drank, and then slept again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: 

[Legolas POV] 

Legolas was pleased and relieved to be walking away from the crowd on his way to collect Gimli and to prepare to head out on patrol. It was not that he had not liked helping folks prepare to set out for their new start. Entertaining the children had been especially gratifying, for it was a new experience for the young elf, who had spent very little time with little ones in his life until just a few short months ago. In his own home he was the youngest person by two thousand years or more, so the opportunity to spend time with children had never presented itself until now. So that part had been enjoyable, and he had also enjoyed trying some of the strange human street foods, including the raspberry ice, which had been very agreeable despite the fact that it gave him a bit of a headache. Herion’s older brother, Herdestir had chuckled when the elf cringed and held a hand to his head after taking the first bite. He had then kindly offered him a sip of the warm tea he was drinking, which helped a little, and had counseled eating the treat in smaller bites to prevent what he called ‘brain freeze’. 

After that the brightly colored sweetened fruit ice had been very pleasant indeed even though the headache had lingered long after the ice was gone. He still had a very mild headache even as they walked away from the crowd, with Faramir’s squire and guards at some distance behind them, but then that might have been from having to deal with the fluttering Thillien who threatened to trap him into dancing with her if he made it back in time, which he most certainly did NOT intend to do. That and thinking about all the romantic nonsense between Faramir, Eowyn and Alusina was enough to give any sane person a headache!

He was glad when the topic was dropped when they reached the crowded inn that sold Gimli’s favorite ale in the White City. He wanted the ale to offer his guardian to thank him for taking some days out of his work on the gate to accompany him on the patrol. Ever since he had opened up to Gimli about how stifled he had been feeling back home and here in Minas Tirith, the dwarf had done his best to make sure Legolas was able to get out of the city from time to time, something the young elf appreciated, even though Gimli insisted on coming along with him. Gimli took his duty to his charge very seriously and after having allowing him to slip past him once he did not intend to do so again. That meant that in Gimli’s mind, they both needed to go on the patrol. But even though Legolas could not help being just a little insulted at the implication that he needed constant watching, he could not pretend not to understand the reason for it and he appreciated the sacrifice of time that his guardian was willing to make.

In fact, after seeing Gimli’s longing look back at the gate once he’d proffered the ale, Legolas felt compelled to offer to stay back and help work on the gate. Gimli, however, would not be gainsaid, and so they set out together with Faramir and the rest of the patrol. 

Legolas was extremely pleased to see how well Gimli was able to ride the new mare he had personally selected for him out of several options shown to him by Faramir and Aragorn. The dwarf had even been seen stroking and crooning softly to the beautiful mare that he called Amethyst, even though he claimed it was because he had been spending far too much time with “flighty elves who would sooner commune with trees and beasts than people.” Still he could not hide the fact that he liked the mare, and even admitted to it freely when pressed. There in the courtyard he looked regal and fierce upon her back in his freshly polished helm and armor. He insisted that Legolas wear some of Faramir’s long outgrown mail as well, even though the elf felt his own leather tunic was protection enough. After all nothing terribly dangerous had been found on any of the sweeps they had been on before and the chain mail only slowed him down and restricted his movement, besides being uncomfortably hot on a day like this. 

Still Legolas did not complain, since that could lead to an embarrassing argument that ended with him still having to wear the mail, or worse yet, it could end with Gimli changing his mind about the patrol at all and both of them staying in the city. He had spent too many days in disgrace with his guardian already this visit so he had no intention of doing anything to end up there again, plus it was too beautiful a day to spend surrounded by stone walls. Everyone in the party seemed to agree, for all were cheerful and eager, though Faramir, who was in charge of the patrol, looked a little pale. Legolas was slightly concerned, for the young man had seemed a little off earlier when he’d nearly been bested in a foot race by his squire, but he seemed in good spirits, especially when Aragorn came to wish them farewell.

He could not hear what the king was saying to his steward and newly revealed son, but whatever it was it made both Aragorn and Faramir smile, then embrace. Legolas glanced over at his own guardian at that, and saw that Gimli too was smiling, clearly pleased and touched by the scene. He turned and caught Legolas’ eye and then he winked conspiratorially, for they both felt they had played a small roll in achieving this outcome between father and son.

Soon they were off, heading toward the River Erui at Faramir’s command. The first few hours were pleasant enough, though something about the trotting pace or maybe the bright sunshine must have made Legolas’ earlier ‘brain freeze’ headache intensify, for it settled in behind his eyes until it was quite distracting, though he was careful not to let his hand stray to rub his head, else Gimli, with his eagle eye, might notice and insist on knowing the reason why, which would not do his chances of staying with the patrol any good at all. 

Fortunately, Gimli seemed to be more interested in keeping an eye on Faramir this time around. The dwarf had a look of concentration on his face and kept tugging at his beard, a sure sign that he had something to say and was just waiting for the right time to do so. Noticing this, Legolas began paying closing attention to Faramir as well, and sure enough, the steward frequently closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple or forehead as if he were in some kind of pain or distress. This was further proven to Legolas when they stopped at a farmer’s well for water.

Faramir had gone completely white, other than a couple of bright spots on his cheeks and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes all the way as if the bright summer sunshine hurt them. But what surprised Legolas even more than that was Faramir’s odd behavior, for he suddenly filled his canteen only to pour the entire contents over his head, soaking his hair and armor. 

“Are you well, Faramir?” he had to ask, “You have been rubbing your head for the last few hours since we set out.”

“I still have a headache from the lendrestil withdrawal,” Faramir explained with a wince, “Aragorn says that it’s my own fault.” 

“That was not particularly kind of him,” Legolas observed, for he felt Aragorn should have been more understanding about the stimulants Faramir had sometimes made use of in order to get work done more efficiently. After all, Aragorn had never told him it was not allowed and Faramir had done it in order to do his job well. It was a risk to be sure, but a relatively small one, and often the ends justified the means in Legolas’ opinion. After all hadn’t most of Faramir’s career been a calculated risk of one kind or another just as his own had? It could sometimes become tiresome to have adults who wanted to protect you and who managed to so conveniently forget the risks you had been expected to take most of your life. 

Taking Faramir at his word, Legolas mounted up again, but no sooner were they off than Gimli offered his take on the situation.

“Are you sure that you should be riding further out with such a headache, Faramir lad? I rather think that Aragorn didn’t intend that you suffer so, no matter how irritated he was about your taking too much of that stimulant drug.” 

“It is fine!” Faramir’s answer was so sharp that Gimli’s eyes narrowed, making Legolas cringe. Either Faramir did not know the dwarf well enough, or he really was not thinking clearly for Gimli was not one for tolerating what he would consider “cheek” from a youngster no matter how high ranking, something the elf attempted to convey to his friend with a look. Gimli did not object immediately, however, no doubt out of respect for Faramir’s role as commander of the patrol, but Legolas knew that was not the end of the matter as far as the dwarf was concerned. 

As the patrol continued on their way, but it was easy to see that Faramir was struggling with the headache more than he wanted anyone to realize. His face had become much more flushed than one would expect even for such a warm day, and Legolas noticed that Faramir’s occasionally gripped Dapple’s mane as if trying to steady himself. So obvious was Faramir’s distress that Legolas felt his own head beginning to throb in sympathy, but when the elf finally asked him, the young man still claimed to be only “a little dizzy.” Even so, he soon turned the patrol over to his second in command, who suggested that the patrol split and escort Faramir home, a suggestion Gimli very firmly agreed with. But Faramir would not have it.

“No, the patrol is my responsibility. Just because I don’t feel at my best doesn’t mean I can’t fulfill my duties.”

At this Legolas glanced worriedly at Gimli, hoping his outspoken guardian would say something more. Anyone could see that Faramir was ill, even Legolas who had rarely seen illness, and the dwarf was hard to ignore even for the most stubborn of characters, which Faramir was turning out to be! Gimli did not let him down.

“If you feel badly enough to turn over command, then we should at least have a better look at you and get you some more water,” Gimli insisted, and the look on his face said in more than words that he intended to have his way. But Faramir remained stubborn.

 

“No. If we stop again we’ll get behind schedule,” he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. 

This caused Legolas to be truly frightened for his friend, for they were not on a schedule. Faramir was always very thorough and if there had been a schedule they were meant to adhere to, he would have made the whole party aware of it. 

“What schedule?” Legolas asked gently, hoping that Faramir would realize himself that he was not thinking straight. 

After that Faramir attempted to explain his schedule, but it was as if he was completely unaware of geography, time or common sense, even though everyone present knew that Faramir knew this land like the back of his own hand. He had organized hundreds of patrols over the years. It was then that every member of the patrol realized their young steward was in trouble. 

It was also then that Gimli and Faramir’s guard, Orohael, dismounted from their own horses and moved in toward Faramir, Gimli calling out as he did so.

“Faramir, stop. It’s clear that you’re not feeling quite yourself, lad. Captain Minalcar can take these men on to River Watch if that’s so very important, and the five of us can head back to the city.” 

“No I’m fine. I will be fine.”

Legolas knew that his arguments would not change Gimli’s mind this time and that Faramir would be dismounting no matter what his wishes were. Legolas leapt from his own horse and moved in toward Faramir as well just in case Faramir fought the inevitable and his help was needed. Gimli was already closing in on Faramir. He shared a glance with Orohael that both of them must have understood meant that they should stand on opposite sides of the horse in case Faramir fell. 

“Get off your horse NOW Faramir, Lad,” Gimli demanded and it was obvious he intended to be obeyed this time, despite Faramir’s continuing to refuse. Orohael attempted to reason with Faramir, even as he reached up to force the young man to comply. Trying to avoid this plan, Faramir leaned a little too far the other way and ended up sliding off the other side instead, landing directly in front of Gimli, who reached to steady him or catch him if he fell. 

For a moment it looked as if Faramir would stay on his feet, but then his knees buckled and he unexpectedly fell forward instead. Gimli grabbed at his tunic, which slowed his fall enough that Legolas was able to make an impressive leap forward just in time to catch Faramir under the arms and prevent the young man from landing face down in the dirt. 

“Good catch, Lamb,” Gimli praised as Orohael called for a blanket to place on the ground. Gimli accepted Faramir’s weight for a moment, and together he and Legolas turned the young man and lowered him to the ground. 

Legolas was more shaken than he wanted to admit at the sight of his friend collapsing, for it had looked terrifyingly similar to someone being shot in the back with an arrow. He was relieved to see that Faramir’s chest was still rising and falling meaning he had only fainted, but he still feared for his friend’s life. He knew that humans, even sometimes young healthy ones, could die from illnesses, and they were far away from a proper healer, though he heard someone signaling for the horns to sound the alarm. 

Gimli, who had obviously decided that he was in charge, was on his knees looking into Faramir’s eyes and brushing his hair back, while Orohael, who probably thought he was in charge held Faramir’s wrist as if checking his heartbeat. Both came to the same conclusion at the same time. 

“He is burning with fever, bring water,” Gimli ordered while at the same time Orohael said, “we need to get his armor off.”

Someone else went for the water while Gimli immediately began to unfasten the leather jerkin that Faramir wore. Legolas could not help thinking how very young his friend looked lying there helplessly and how very uncomfortable as his head lolled from side to side with everything being done to him. At least he could do something about that. Sinking down to the ground, he lifted Faramir’s head and placed it in his lap. Gimli glanced at him briefly and winked to show his approval for this action, while Legolas began to brush back Faramir’s hair and whisper soft words of encouragement in case Faramir could hear him. He kept his voice low and calm, in spite of the panic he felt at how hot Faramir’s face felt. He was sure he had never known of a fever so high, and he was also sure it was empathy that made his own eyes and skin burn. And it must have been tension and fear for his friend that made him start to shiver. 

Even in all the excitement Gimli gave him a brief questioning look, so Legolas took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself in order not to draw attention away from Faramir. That helped a little and soon the dwarf was distracted again when Faramir, thankfully, regained consciousness. Legolas helped to sit him up so that Gimli could hold a canteen of water to the young man’s lips and order him to drink and Orohael  
could pull Faramir’s shirt over his head. The blood seemed to drain from the guard’s face when Faramir’s naked chest was revealed, so that even Faramir noticed his distress.

“Orohael? What is wrong?” Faramir worriedly asked.

When Faramir leaned back again, Legolas could see why Orohael was so alarmed, for Faramir's chest was covered in some sort of strange rash that Orohael identified as a symptom of the rose fever that had been plaguing the children of Mines Tirith. The elf recalled Herion’s brother’s words from earlier that day saying that the illness was much for dangerous for those beyond childhood. That was alarming news indeed, for they were several hours ride away from any sort of healing supplies. It was quickly decided that it was safer to travel on than to wait for a healer so Orohael helped Faramir back into his shirt. A quick discussion decided that Faramir would ride with Oroahael.

It was not such an easy feat getting the unconscious Faramir up on the horse. For one thing, it was something akin to lifting a tree since he was so tall, and Legolas’ arms felt strangely weak for some reason that he could not understand, but someone else stepped in to help him and soon enough they were on their way again moving at a fairly rapid clip. 

The ride that had seemed fairly short on the way out seemed gruelingly long to the elf. He was terribly worried for his friend, who looked completely limp in Orohael’s arms, though he did regain consciousness once to ask where they were going. Legolas knew how dire the situation was, even though he was not very familiar with mortal illnesses. The rugged Orohael’s face was pinched and drawn with anxiety and Gimli looked as worried as he had ever seen him and the rest of the company rode in silence in contrast to their engaging in teasing and light conversation before Faramir’s collapse. Legolas himself had felt the unnatural heat of Faramir’s skin and that alone told him that the young man was in a precarious situation. A fever so high could cause brain damage or heart failure, even in someone as young and strong as Faramir. It was a terrifying thought. 

But it was not only worry that made the ride seem long, for strangely enough the headache that the young elf had been fighting since that morning had become so intense that he was having trouble focusing on balancing upon Fire Demon’s back, and as hard as he tried he could not help his teeth chattering with cold even though it was a warm day and even though his eyes felt hot when he closed them. He began to think that it was more than just empathy for Faramir that made him feel so strangely. It was not exactly the same, but it put him in mind of the time he had been fighting spiders in Greenwood and had managed to get injected with its toxic venom. He couldn't imagine what was wrong with him, for he hadn’t encountered any toxins that he was aware of, but he began to worry that the feeling was not passing as quickly as he had expected at first. Truthfully he was secretly glad to be going back to Minas Tirith where he could find a nice dark room where he could lie down and close his eyes for a while. He was certain that would be all it would take to remedy the situation. 

In the meantime he knew he needed to be careful not to draw Gimli’s attention or else the dwarf might fuss over him in front of the entire patrol, which would be mortifying. He cringed just thinking about the possibilities. He was certain that at least some of the members of the patrol knew that the dwarf was acting as his guardian, but he would rather it wasn't pointed out since others might not know. Not that he was ashamed or unhappy about it, but he preferred that folks did not find out about his relative youth, since they tended to treat him differently once it was revealed. It was more than that, however, for Legolas could imagine Gimli insisting on thoroughly checking him over if he suspected he was feeling unwell, or worse yet he might notice that he was struggling to guide Fire Demon and require him to give up the horse and ride with someone else just as poor Faramir was having to do, and that was too humiliating to contemplate. No as long as he could manage it, he would hide his true condition, at least until they were safely back to their chambers. Hopefully after that there would be no need to say anything, for he really felt a night’s sleep was all he needed to put things right.

Fortunately, though Gimli glanced back at him from time to time, he never said a word, and soon Aragorn was there with Magordan and another guard whose name Legolas could not come up with, even though it was on the tip of his tongue. He could almost remember but his thoughts kept skittering away before they could form. It was so disconcerting that he almost forgot to worry about Faramir until he saw Aragorn’s expression when he realized it was his own son who needed the healer that had been called for.

If Aragorn was alarmed that Faramir was ill, he was more alarmed still when he examined the young man and found out exactly how ill he was. Faramir did not wake up at all when he was handed down to his father and then laid on the ground, nor did he respond to Aragorn lightly tapping his cheek, or even when he began to unfasten his tunic.

“Someone help me get him into the stream,” Aragorn said, “His fever is dangerously high. We have to cool him down.”

Orohael, who still sat upon his horse ready to fly at his King’s command began to dismount, but Legolas was faster. He slid off of Fire Demon more clumsily than usual, and his head swam at the sudden movement, but he managed to drop down quickly beside Faramir and remove his boots and begin to untie his leggings. It wasn’t until Faramir was stripped completely that Legolas noticed that Gimli had come to stand next them to and was blocking the proceedings with a shield borrowed from one of Aragorn’s guards. Leave it to his dwarf to consider Faramir’s dignity, even in an emergency such as this. 

After that, Aragorn easily and gently lifted Faramir into his arms, as if he weighed no more than an infant. He cradled Faramir’s red-blond head against his shoulder and carried him to the stream that was only a few yards away. 

“I’ll need someone to come with me to help hold him,” the healer King called back over his shoulder, “If the cold water causes him to regain consciousness he will no doubt try to fight me.” 

Legolas hurried to follow his friends, only Gimli prevented him by grasping his upper arm.

“Nay, laddie, I shall do it,” the dwarf spoke softly so that the others would not hear, “You fetch the horse blanket and wait at the water’s edge so we can cover the poor lad and preserve his dignity a bit once we come out.” 

“But Gimli I can hold him just as well as you,” Legolas objected, confused as to why the dwarf would be against his going into the stream.

“No doubt you can,” Gimli agreed, “but you heard what I said. Now fetch that blanket.”

Gimli used the sort of firm tone that told Legolas there was no point in arguing at the moment even if he did not understand the dwarf’s reasoning, so rather than objecting again, he turned back for the horse blanket that was left on the ground. The thing was much heavier than he expected it to be, and when he bent down to pick it up, the ground seemed to wave, but he did not think anyone saw since all eyes were on Aragorn and Gimli heading for the water with Faramir. 

As he stood obediently at the water’s edge, he could hear Faramir cry out, for the stream, which was fed from high up in the mountains, was no doubt frigid in spite of the warmth of the day. As strong as Aragorn was, even he was shivering by the time he and Gimli emerged with Faramir. Gimli only shook the water from his beard and replaced his armor and boots while he walked beside Aragorn doing his best to keep Faramir’s modesty intact as Gimli had told him to do. Aragorn did not seem nearly as concerned about that, but he did not object at least. And with all the efficiency of an experienced healer, he soon had Faramir dressed again and this time placed on Aragorn’s horse to ride in front of his father. 

Legolas’ head was throbbing mercilessly by then and it was beginning to make him nauseous, but he returned to Fire Demon and reached for a hidden store of strength to mount up again. He was beginning to be very concerned, for he could think of no reason at all that he should feel so weak that he was concerned about mounting a horse. He only hoped no one could tell. He was very surprised when Gimli gave him a hand up, for it was something he had never done before, but he was grateful nevertheless, even if it was a little embarrassing. Fortunately he doubted anyone noticed, for he was not the center of attention at the moment. Everyone was focused on their young steward and concerned about making it quickly back to the city. 

By the time they entered the main gate, Legolas didn’t even feel well enough to take care of Fire Demon himself, so he turned the horse over to a groom, intending to walk with Gimli to the King’s rooms to await news about Faramir, but the dwarf was being strangely stubborn again. 

“Come, Lad, we will return to our own chambers and await news there. I have asked Aragorn to send word to us as soon as he knows something.”

“But Gimli,” Legolas began to protest, but it was more out of habit than anything. His heart wasn’t really in it for he really did feel dreadful. 

Gimli never even bothered to answer, but simply took him by the arm and lead him back to their shared suite of rooms where he first helped the elf out of his tunic and mail and then insisted he sit down in the arm chair in front of the fireplace. There was no fire since they were not expected to be in residence that night, and Legolas could not help wishing for one. His teeth chattered, even though he didn’t think he should be cold on a summer day, especially since he was rarely cold except in the bitterest winter weather. It made no sense at all, but then sense seemed to have become a stranger to him in the last few hours. 

Still it was a relief to rest his head against the soft cushion on the back of the chair and he reveled in the feeling of Gimli’s large cool hand pressed against his forehead for a moment, even though the dwarf seemed somewhat alarmed himself. 

“You are too warm, Lamb ,” he said, “I could see something was amiss earlier but I wanted to get you alone to ask. Are you feeling unwell?”

For a moment Legolas thought about denying it, but then in a moment of clarity he realized there was l little point. In fact he couldn’t remember exactly why he had been trying to hide it in the first place for all he wanted at the moment was to have a reason to lie down and close his eyes. He nodded slowly so as not to cause himself more pain.

“I have an excruciating headache,” he admitted, “like orc are attacking with spears from the inside, and I cannot seem to get warm.”

“That would be the fever,” Gimli said. “It is causing chills. But where did it come from? What have you been hiding from me elfling?”

“Nothing,” Legolas swore. “I was fine all morning until I tried some human street food called raspberry ice. It gave me a headache that faded quickly at first but then came back slowly and got worse all day. But it was just ice and sugar combined with crushed raspberries. I don’t see how that could be the cause. Still I cannot think of anything else.”

“Maybe the raspberries were off,” Gimli suggested, “do you feel nauseated?”

“A little,” Legolas said, “but that has only been for the last little while.”

“Ah well, I do not trust all these human food hucksters,” Gimli said. “Bad raspberries, combined with the stress of the day may have caused your troubles. Perhaps some warm tea to settle your stomach and an early night will set you right. Shall I call for a pain reliever for your headache?”

While that might have been nice, Legolas knew that a pain relieving concoction would come with a healer, and he did not feel like being scrutinized and fussed over, so he shook his head.

“Nay, I am sure I will be fine by morning,” he said.

“And if you do not, we can call a healer then. For now I’ll make tea while you prepare for bed,” Gimli instructed, already making a small fire to boil some water.

A hot bath helped Legolas’ headache marginally while he was in it, but as soon as he stood up the pounding became so intense the he almost changed his mind and asked Gimli to call for the pain relief after all, but again the idea of having to endure a healer made him stick to his original decision. Gimli had a cup of fairly weak black tea already cooling on the bedside table, and the counterpane on the bed turned down so that the linens beneath looked comfortable and inviting. Even though his head continued to throb, it felt wonderful to slip between the sheets and sip at the weak tea before closing his eyes and waiting for sleep to come. 

Gimli’s low voice was a comfort as was the large hand that softly brushed the hair back from Legolas’ forehead. It was surprising that someone who wielded a war axe that outweighed Legolas could have such a gentle touch when he chose to. Then he felt Gimli’s beard tickle his face as the dwarf leaned in to kiss the top of his head, and then asked him to open his eyes for a moment. When he did so, Gimli's face was quite close to his, and the dwarf’s eyes were kind but worried as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind Legolas’ ear. 

“I will remain near tonight. If you feel worse in the night you are to call me, no matter the hour,” he said. “Is that plain young elf?”

“Yes Elvellon.”

“I mean it, Legolas.”

Even though the tone was stern, Legolas knew he was not really being scolded. The dwarf clearly spoke out of love and concern. It took some effort to answer, however, for he felt like his tongue had thickened.

“I know you do. I won’t forget,” Legolas promised his guardian, and then Gimli kissed him again and the elf drifted off into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt that he was once again running on the Plains of Rohan, though he could not remember the reason why, only that is was urgent that he do so. Only this time the sun was scorching hot, relentlessly baking his throbbing skull and charring his skin until he felt he would give anything for a drop of shade or some cool water. His parched throat ached as well so that swallowing was painful and he could not find his voice to warn Gimli of the orc coming up behind him. He heard the twang of a bow string, then the sickening thud of a orc arrows landing in flesh! Then, to his horror, Gimli fell forward, blood gushing from his wounds and a dozen black arrows protruding from his back. A horrified scream ripped from his throat, only it was soundless in the wind, and the next thing he knew his eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling of his room in Minas Tirith. He tried to take a deep breath to slow the rapid beating of his heart, but even that small effort caused the pain in his head to increase. For one terrible moment he could not remember if he had been dreaming or not, but then he heard the sonorous snores of his beloved guardian and he was flooded with relief. 

It must be the middle of the night, for Gimli was clearly sound asleep. His eyes scanned the room and he noticed that his door had been left open, and there was a glass of water sitting on his bedside table. He longed to quench his terrible thirst, but the slightest movement caused lightning bolts to shoot through his head, so he stayed still as possible and tried to think of something else. That, however, proved to be difficult, for he could not remember ever feeling quite so awful in his entire life. He began to wonder what dying felt like. 

He pondered on that for a while, but then he realized that he didn’t want to die, and it would be stupid to do so when there was someone next door who might be able to help him. Hadn’t Gimli made him promise to call for him if he began to feel worse? Well this, he realized, was definitely worse, and he also realized how seriously Gimli took promises. Gimli would certainly be angry with him if he didn’t call after having promised to do so. 

So because he didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to be scolded, he focused hard and forced himself to call out for his dwarf. He was sure he hadn't produced enough sound for Gimli to hear, but he must have, for within seconds the dwarf was next to him lifting his head and holding the water glass to his lips. The water felt wonderful on his parched throat, but the movement made him so dizzy so that his stomach turned over and he feared he might be sick. 

“Breathe through your nose,” Gimli advised, and when he did so, Legolas felt marginally better. At least he felt he might keep the water down. 

“What is amiss, Lamb? Are you feeling worse?” Gimli’s hand felt cool on his cheek and he never even gave Legolas a chance to answer. He had already made a decision without giving Legolas a chance to object. “You are burning with fever. I am going to send for a healer. Lie still, I will only be out of sight for a moment.”

True to his word Gimli was back very quickly, this time with a cold damp cloth that he used to wipe Legolas face and hands, and then he pulled back the covers and wiped his arms and legs. Legolas wasn’t sure why Gimli would do such a thing in the middle of the night, but it felt wonderful, even if it did make him shiver a little. Seeing this, Gimli covered him over with a light blanket and spoke to him in deep soothing tones.

“Close your eyes and rest, Lamb. A healer will be here soon.”

That thought was strange, because he had no idea what to tell a healer about what was wrong with him. Never had he seen a healer without an injury to have patched or a broken bone to have set. Now he only knew he felt miserable, but had no idea why. Not only that, but he was apprehensive about the intimate examination that always came with visiting healers, something he never felt comfortable with, even when he knew the healer well as he did at home. The thought of some unknown human probing and inspecting him was quite disconcerting. Evidently his concern must have shown on his face, for Gimli rubbed the elf’s furrowed brown with his thumb and spoke again softly.

“No need to fret, child, I will stay with you, and no doubt you will feel better soon.” 

Since Gimli never lied to him, and since he felt marginally better from the dwarf’s ministrations, he found himself drifting again, Gimli’s soft humming helping keep dark dreams away this time. 

The next time he awakened it was to someone unbuttoning his shirt. Automatically he tried to brush the hands away, but Gimli’s voice admonished him. 

“It is only me, lad. Aragorn wants to look at you.”

He let Gimli get on with the task, and then Aragorn’s face was there. Legoals was flooded with relief to see him, knowing he would not have to deal with an unknown healer, but he was surprised as well, as he suddenly remembered Faramir. In his own misery, he had forgotten to worry, but it all came back to him now. The last time he had seen the young man he had been desperately ill.

“But what about Faramir?” Legolas croaked, his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. 

“He is much better now,” Aragorn smiled, “and his fever is under control. Arwen is sitting with him now. I believe you are afflicted with the same thing he has been suffering from. I only need to see your chest to be sure.”

“Impossible,” Legolas was shocked at the suggestion. “Elves do not get human illnesses.”

“I am afraid it isn’t impossible,” Aragorn gently explained. “Elves and men are not that different, Legolas, and unfortunately you are still too young to have developed full elven immunity.”

“But..”

“I know you’ve never been ill before, but think about it. You have spent most of your life living among adult elves and never being exposed to such things, but your working with the children here has exposed you. I am sorry, but your kindness has been your downfall I am afraid. But we will not know for sure until you move your arms and let me see your chest.”

Only then did Legolas notice that he had crossed his arms over his chest after his shirt had been removed. He slowly moved them to his sides to reveal, to his great dismay, a red rash covering his entire chest and stomach. 

“It is as I thought,” Aragorn said. Legolas listened for amusement in his voice, but Aragorn seemed perfectly sympathetic. Still Legolas couldn’t help feeling humiliated on top of feeling miserable. He felt betrayed by his own body and by those who had let him believe in his natural immunity to illness. Imagine having caught a childhood illness. It was totally humiliating.

“There is no shame in it, Lamb,” Gimli pointed out, evidently realizing how the elf must be feeling and proving again just how perceptive he could be when it came to his charge. “No doubt most of the elves you know have dealt with such things, but it was just so long ago that no one ever mentioned it to you. it is evidently perfectly natural .”

“It does not feel natural,” Legolas couldn’t help complaining as he rubbed his temples to try to ease his aching head. 

“Only because you did not know it was possible,” Aragorn said. “I should have thought of it myself and prevented you being exposed, but the truth is it never occurred to me either, though I am ashamed to admit it.”

“That is enough talk of shame or blame,” Gimli pointed out. “It is no one’s fault, and there is nothing to be done about it now.”

“True enough,” Aragorn agreed. “and the good news is that if you cooperate and let us take care of you all will be well soon enough. I’ll start by giving you a pain reliving tea to manage that headache, and something to lower your fever a little. After that you simply need to rest and drink plenty of fluids.” Here Aragorn caught Legolas’ eye, and lifted a brow to show he meant what he said. “Which means, elfling, that you are to remain in bed unless and until I say otherwise. You may get up to use the facilities and that is all, even if you think you are feeling better. On the second or third day you will think you are well, but that is just the second phase beginning. It always runs the same course.”

“You needn’t worry about that, Lad,” Gimli answered Aragorn before Legolas could even respond. “I do not intend to go anywhere, so I’ll see that he behaves and does as he is bid.”

Legolas bristled a little at that for he did not care for the implication that he would misbehave unless he was watched, but Aragorn found it amusing at least. He smiled and winked at the dwarf.

“I do not doubt that, friend Gimli,” Aragorn said. “He is in capable hands for certain. Now I will make that tea and leave it to you to convince our elfling to swallow it all, and here is a sweet plum as a reward.”

He handed Gimli a sugared plum wrapped in a bit of paper and then added all sorts of questionable looking herbs to a pot on the fire. The smell was awful, and when it was finished brewing it tasted dreadfully bitter, but Legolas drank it all without even hesitating or making a face, just to show his irritating friend that he was not a child who needed to be bribed to swallow medicine! Still after Aragorn left, he accepted the candied fruit when Gimli offered it, and found that it left a pleasant taste in his mouth. Better still the tea took effect fairly quickly and the agonizing pain in his head finally began to ease a little. 

It was a such a relief, and Legolas felt so exhausted and weak that he fell asleep quite quickly after that. He slept fitfully however because of the ringing in his ears and because of waking up either too hot or too cold. it was as if his body could no longer regulate his internal temperature. One moment he was shivering and huddling under the covers and the next he was roasting hot and tossing the covers aside completely. Each time he awakened, Gimli was there to tuck him in more tightly or add a blanker, or to offer him a cool drink or a wipe his face with a damp towel. The dwarf almost seemed to anticipate his needs, so that Legolas barely had to ask for anything, something the young elf was very grateful for. If one had to suffer the indignity of being sick with a human childhood illness, it was best to do so with a dutiful dwarf by his side, he decided. 

It was somewhere around dawn when Legolas finally fell into a real sleep and when he woke up at midday the ringing in his ears had stopped and his nightclothes and bedding were drenched with perspiration.

He had barely opened his eyes and made a slight movement when Gimli was there again, only rather than looking concerned as he had all the other times, he was smiling broadly, and evidently greatly relieved. 

“The fever has finally broken,” he explained, brushing damp hair from Legolas eyes. “The worst is over, Lamb.”

Legolas attempted to smile back but even that small gesture took a great deal of effort, for even though he felt much better than before, his limbs were shaking and weak as water and he hadn’t even attempted to rise from his bed. It was a strange feeling to feel so helpless.

Gimli didn’t seem to mind, however, for he immediately began taking care of practical tasks without blinking an eye.

“Do you need to ease nature, lad? Nay no need to get up. Let me take care of things.”

Legolas felt himself blush at the thought, but since he was too weak to stand on his own, and since he did in fact desperately need to empty his bladder, he just closed his eyes and let Gimli get on with it, which the dwarf did efficiently and with very little discussion, as if it was something he did every day of his life. Afterwards he brought Legolas some broth he had been keeping warm by the fire, which Legolas did his best to swallow even though he did not really feel hungry. He knew it would make Gimli happy if he did so, and that made it worth the effort.

Next, Gimli brought a basin of water and towels, clean clothing and bedding. Legolas thought that if Gimli gave up his career as a warrior and as Lord of Aglarond, he would make a very fine nurse, for he managed to gently bathe his charge without compromising his modestly too much and then dress him again in soft leggings and nightshirt and thick warm socks. He also somehow stripped and changed the bedding without Legolas even having to get out of bed, and before he knew it, the elf was tucked comfortably under fresh sheets and feeling much fresher than before, even if he was still tired and even though his scalp itched a little since everything but his hair had been washed. Evidently the dwarf was pleased as well.

“Now then,” he said a little triumphantly, “You look a sight better, lamb. What else can I do for you?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he needed nothing. After all he could hardly ask for more after everything his guardian had done for him already, but then Gimli had asked and Legolas despised having dirty hair.

“Could we wash my hair?” he asked, a little shyly. 

“That could be a bit of a trick, lamb,” Gimli frowned, “you need to gain back your strength before you get out of bed, and if we were to do it here we’d get everything else wet. Besides you washed it just yesterday.”

“But it is all sweaty now.”

“I think you will survive, elfling.”

The dwarf’s tone was firm, soLegolas nodded in understanding, but evidently he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment, for Gimli sighed and changed his mind.

“Very well. You may try with my help.”

Temporarily triumphant, Legolas attempted to rise, but even just sitting on the edge of the bed made his head swim, and he stumbled when Gimli helped him to his feet.

“All right laddie, that’s it,” Gimli said. “I am sorry, but this isn’t going to happen right now. You can try again later.”

And so that was that. Legolas let himself be helped back against the pillows where he closed his eyes and attempted to make the room stop spinning. As soon as it did so he resigned himself to trying to sleep again as Gimli told him to do, but the only thing he could think of was his hair. He knew it couldn’t really be that dirty, but because he was conscious of it he couldn't help scratching, and then sighing and turning over to try to get comfortable. When that didn’t work, he turned his pillow over and tried again to sleep. He told himself firmly to stop thinking about it, only it turned out that all he could do was think about it. He sighed again and reminded himself that he was a warrior and had put up with all sorts of unpleasant conditions. He told himself that he was being ridiculous and prissy and that there was no point in worrying over it. He was not strong enough to do it on his own and Gimli had already said no, and getting his particular dwarf to reverse a decree was like changing the flow of the Anduin. It could not be done. Or at least that was what he believed. As it turned out, Gimli was more easily swayed than he had thought. 

“Very well, elfling, let’s do it.” Gimli chuckled. “Let’s wash your hair.”

Legolas could hardly believe his ears, for his dwarven guardian rarely changed his mind about anything.

“Really?”

“Yes really,” Gimli answered, still smiling. “It is clear that you will never be able to sleep until it is done. But you are to do it my way without arguing. Is that plain?”

“It will be just as you say,” Legolas promised.

“Good lad,” Gimli praised, “I will prepare things and come back for you, so stay put for now.”

Soon Gimli returned and simply lifted his charge in his arms and carried him to where he had laid a rolled up towel down next to the sunken tub in the bathing chamber. In this way, Legolas only had to sit on the floor and lean backwards with his long hair hanging over the edge of the tub. The warm water and citrus soap were a pleasure to his senses as he simply allowed Gimli to soap and rinse his hair. Before he knew it he was being carried back to the bedchamber, only this time Gimli arranged him on a couch in front of the fire where his hair could dry as the dwarf brushed it until it was silky smooth. The warm fire and dwarf’s gentle ministrations made Legolas begins to feel drowsy, so he after his hair was snarl free, he leaned back against his dwarf and closed his eyes just for a moment. 

The next time he awakened, it was to soft voices speaking to one another. He could not remember how he got there, but he was back in bed, tucked comfortably between the sheets. As soon as he opened his eyes, Aragorn was there scrutinizing his face, examining his chest and checking him for fever, obviously in full healer mode. Evidently he was satisfied with what he saw, though, for his tone was light and cheerful enough.

“it looks like you might survive, my friend, though you mustn't think you are well, yet. You will need to continue as you have been for a few more days, and remember what I said before, no matter how bored you become. Otherwise you might find out the real reason this illness is called Rose Fever.”

He snickered at his own jest, but he did not explain it, though Gimli seemed to be in on the joke as well since he chuckled too. 

“There is little danger of that,” Gimli said. “He can hardly get into bother with me practically sitting on him, and I have no intention of leaving until he is well.”

“You may be underestimating our elfling here,” Aragorn teased, “this one can find trouble in the unlikeliest of circumstances, faster than the eye can see at times!”

Legolas was not amused, for he was still not feeling his best and was not in the mood for Estel’s questionable humor. Gimli must have understood for he nudged Aragorn aside and sat down next to the bed, and patted his elf’s hand.

“He has been a very good patient,” Gimli defended him, and though it was not exactly a difficult feat, Legolas basked in his guardian’s approval. Estel, however, was not convinced.

“Only because you have been such an excellent nurse, my friend. As you say he has little choice with you watching him like a hawk. Which reminds me, Gimli, how would you like to take on another patient?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Almost there, my stubborn son,” murmured Aragorn, barely moving his lips. It was a skill that Faramir envied, although at the moment he was more concerned by whether he could make it all the way from his office to Legolas’ and Gimli’s apartments in the Citadel. 

Faramir just nodded his agreement, saving his concentration for walking. It had become such a challenge that he barely felt his father’s concern or the worried glances of Orohael and Magordan behind him. 

“I have only myself to blame for agreeing to let you walk,” Aragorn said ruefully. 

“A deal’s a deal,” Faramir protested. And he’d felt well enough when he first left his office. It was only after they were half way there that he’d begun to feel faint again. But he did not regret flatly refusing to be carried through the halls of the Citadel! 

They reached their destination before Aragorn had a chance to reply with more than a tense half-smile. He rapped on the door quietly. To Faramir’s hidden relief, Gimli was swift to open it and welcome them inside. 

Orohael and Magordan took up posts outside on either side of the door while Aragorn wasted no time ushering Faramir inside. Once the door was closed and Gimli their only audience, Aragorn gave Faramir a pointed look and a wry smile. 

“A deal’s a deal,” the King reminded his son. 

Faramir sighed as if greatly put upon, but in truth even the brief exertion had tired him to the point where he was a little glad to let Aragorn pick him up in a cradle carry, as if his son were truly a child still. 

But Faramir was not too tired to register an indignant protest at being put in such an undignified position! 

“I always feel like a fair maiden in need of rescue when you do this,” Faramir complained lightly, knowing that his disapproval wouldn’t change his father’s decision. The King had carted Faramir around in such an ignominious manner entirely too often for his son’s taste since the Steward’s bout with Rose Fever had started. 

Aragorn laughed fondly and challenged, “I dare you to say that to Arwen, or to your Eowyn!” 

Faramir made a face, “No, thank you, Sir. I have no desire to be skewered, verbally or otherwise!” 

“Wise man,” Aragorn praised, as he carried his son into Legolas’ bed chamber and then deposited Faramir gently on a second bed which looked to be a recent addition to the room’s furnishings. 

“I’m sorry, Legolas,” Faramir said sincerely to his pale but curious friend, who seemed comfortably settled on his own bed, “It is the height of rudeness to invade someone else’s sick room and impose your presence as a visitor upon them, but as you can see, my own opinion on the matter was not surveyed.” 

“That’s interesting, ion-nin,” said Aragorn sardonically as he tucked the blankets up around his son, “When I was growing up, it was considered the height of rudeness to pull rank on your healer in order to defy your father’s orders and get out of bed to go about your normal business.” 

That made Faramir blush, although he still managed to teasingly retort, “Perhaps that is the case in Arnor, or amongst the elves in Imladris, but things are done differently here in Gondor, Sir.” 

“Oh, are they?” Aragorn asked, running a careful hand over Faramir’s loose wavy shoulder-length hair, “Well, not for you, they aren’t. At least not anymore. Get out of bed again before I give you leave, and you’ll find out again why this particular malady is called Rose Fever. And neither of us want that, do we, ion-nin?” 

“Yes, yes, fine, Sir,” Faramir agreed, with a deeper blush. His hindquarters were still tingling from the light but stinging spanking he’d gotten from Aragorn just before they left his office. 

“That’s three times you’ve called me Sir today,” the King pointed out, as he cupped Faramir’s cheeks in his calloused hands and kissed his son’s forehead, “and you still owe me for yesterday as well.” 

Faramir sighed, and conceded absently, “Yes, Ada.” 

Then he froze, he and Aragorn both. Faramir had been thinking of Aragorn as his father for a long time, and he’d told Aragorn of their relationship several weeks ago. Aragorn had recognized Faramir as his son from that very moment, and had frequently called him ‘ion-nin’ – the Sindarin term for ‘my son.’ But it was the first time that Faramir had called ‘Ada,’ the informal term for the Sindarin “Adar,” or father. It hadn’t been Faramir’s plan to do so – it had just slipped out. 

Aragorn recovered first. He ruffled Faramir’s hair and kissed his forehead again, then huskily ordered, “Be good, ion-nin. Behave and do as Gimli says.” 

That, and Aragorn quite evidently being pleased by the term of affection instead of bothered by it, took Faramir’s mind off of his unintentional informality. He’d gotten out of his bed in the first place for a very good reason, and if something similar came to his attention, he’d be getting out of this bed, Gimli or no Gimli! The very thought of the troubling news that his secretary Arciryas had brought to him after lunch had Faramir frowning. 

“Faramir.” 

Faramir’s startled blue-gray eyes flew up to meet his father’s. With another sigh, the Steward reluctantly conceded, “I’ll try.” 

Aragorn ruffled his son’s hair a third time then said to Gimli, “Do try to keep him from gallivanting all over the citadel, brother. 

Gimli chuckled, seemingly amused at Aragorn’s expense, and said, “I’m confident that I can manage that. I can be very persuasive, can’t I, lamb?” 

Legolas yawned, then said calmly, “Everyone knows that, Elvellon.” 

“Thank you, Gimli,” Aragorn said warmly, “Please do send for me at once if either of them start running a high fever again. It will likely be Faramir first, and probably not until late this evening at the earliest. I should be back for him before then.” 

Faramir sighed again, frustrated at being described as if he was a parcel! 

“Don’t worry, brother,” Gimli said to Aragorn, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I’ll take good care of your son as well as my heart-son.” 

Legolas waited until Aragorn and Gimli had left the room to turn and ask Faramir, “What was so pressing that you pulled rank on a healer and got up to work?” 

Faramir shook his head, “Aragorn made me swear that I wouldn’t say anything about it, or think of it either. I’ll tell you when I can, I promise.” 

“Oh,” said Legolas, surprised but evidently satisfied by that answer. Then he asked, “Why is it called Rose Fever, Faramir? I thought that it was just because of the rash.” 

Blushing, and then surprised by a yawn, Faramir answered, “I’ll tell you when I wake up.” As ridiculous as it was, Faramir found the call of sleep irresistible. 

When Faramir next woke, it was to another knock at the door. Legolas was sleeping, but Gimli got up from the table and chair where he appeared to have been studying some kind of architectural drawing. Faramir heard the voice of Ialon, one of Faramir’s assistant secretaries. 

“No, lad,” Faramir heard Gimli say politely but firmly to Ialon, “Haven’t you heard that your prince is recovering still? Take that back to his office for now.”

“But, Lord Gimli, Lord Faramir said that he wanted this information as soon as possible!” 

Faramir pushed the covers aside and walked as quickly as he could to the front room to stop Gimli from sending Ialon – and the information about where Langwen’s and Ramion’s family was from – away. Faramir was pleased to find that he was steady on his feet again, even if he still felt much weaker than normal. But then that was how he’d felt when he first got out of bed this morning, and he’d soon felt worse after moving around. 

As fast as Faramir had acted, Gimli had already closed the door again by the time Faramir reached him. 

“You’ll be wanting to get straight back into bed, Faramir lad,” Gimli recommended sternly. 

“But I need to learn what Ialon found, so that I know where to send messengers to inquire!” Faramir tried to explain, resting a bit more heavily than he would like against the door frame. 

“Sit down before you fall down, and tell me what is troubling you,” Gimli ordered, “Clearly there is more than your usual diligence at work here.” 

Faramir sighed heavily and sat down on a settee by the window, “Aye, there is. But Aragorn doesn’t want Legolas to hear of it until he is well.” 

Gimli looked surprised at that. 

“I’ll go back to bed,” Faramir offered pleadingly, “but will you please get Ialon to bring the scrolls back? I promise to rest while I read them.” 

Gimli raised a skeptical eyebrow, “I doubt that your father intended you to be working at all, Faramir. But if you like, I’ll send a messenger to ask him.” 

“No. He has public audiences today,” Faramir explained sadly. Aragorn had explained that otherwise, he would have just brought his work with him to do in his son’s sick room. 

“And he’d likely say no,” Gimli guessed with a wry chuckle. He poured a mug of water from the sideboard and offered it to Faramir. 

Blushing, Faramir accepted the water and drank thirstily. When he was done, he handed the mug back and agreed, “Yes, he would probably say no. But it’s important.” 

“I’m sure it is, lad. But not as important to your father as your health.” Gimli put the mug back on the sideboard and then closed the door to Legolas’ bed chamber. “Now, why don’t you tell me what has gone awry? Perhaps I can help.” 

Faramir smiled wistfully, “I doubt it. Not unless you know where little Langwen, her brother Ramion, and their mother Landes have gotten too?” 

“Langwen?” Gimli asked, startled. “Isn’t she the young lass who thinks that Legolas hangs the moon?” 

“Yes, that one.” 

“Weren’t they bound in a caravan for one of the southern fiefdoms, to help with the harvest?” 

“They were, but the Lord of Lossarnach sent word that the wagonmaster of the caravan reported that they’d changed their minds and stayed in Minas Tirith at the last minute,” Faramir explained, “But they’d been so excited about going to Lossarnach. And they’re not the first to disappear. Young women and children have gone missing from three other caravans, as well. The wagonmaster and Captain-General Tavasond think that they’ve just changed their minds and gone to stay with other family, like their last messages said. So I asked Ialon to get their records from Mistress Talves, to see what other family they had. I doubt that they have much of any, otherwise they’d have been taken in. But I need proof before I can set the wagon master and the guard to looking further.” 

“I see,” Gimli said, taking a seat beside Faramir and putting a consoling hand on the young prince’s knee, “That is troubling news indeed. But I’m sure that you’ve already told Aragorn about this, have you not?” 

“I have, but he wants me to wait until I know more to do anything about it! He said that he’d have my men report to him for the time being, until I’m well again,” Faramir said, feeling tormented by fear for the people he’d sworn to protect and their unknown fate. 

“It can be hard to wait, Faramir. But I’ve no doubt that he’s right about that. And you can safely leave the matter in his hands for now. Don’t you trust your father to look after your people?” 

“I do,” Faramir said, looking up to meet Gimli’s dark eyes earnestly, “But he doesn’t know Gondor the way that I do. Little details that are wrong – like a woman from the White Mountains going to stay with family in the Lefnui – he wouldn’t pick up on that right away.” 

“Well, he has his secretary and your secretary helping him. They’re from Gondor. They’ll know what’s what,” Gimli said logically, “And in the meantime, you’ll rest. Didn’t your father tell you that the second bout with fever would be worse, if you didn’t take it easy in between the two?” 

“Yes, he did, but . . .” 

“But you’re young and you think you’re immortal. Well, you’ve already seen what your father had to say to that. Back to bed with you now, Faramir lad.” 

“But . . .” 

“Would you like to walk, or be carried?” the dwarf asked pragmatically. 

“Walk,” Faramir conceded with a sigh, “I’ve been carried enough for a life time in the past two days.” 

“Well, then. Go on with you.” 

Seeing that his choices were poor, Faramir did. Rather to his surprise, he fell asleep again. When he next woke, Legolas was awake, and curious. 

“It’s good to see you well again, Faramir. You had us all worried,” Legolas said brightly. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Faramir offered, “I can’t remember much of anything after we stopped for water from that farmer’s well.” And Faramir was rather glad of that. He had felt miserable, and from how relieved Aragorn had been when Faramir started to feel better, he must have been in a lamentable state indeed. 

“This Rose Fever is awful,” Legolas complained, “I can’t imagine how little children go through it. What a terrible thing to have happen to a child! Langwen didn’t catch it, did she?” 

“Um, no,” Faramir answered, then amended it, “At least not that I’ve heard.” He hated not being able to tell Legolas what was going on. But Aragorn had made him promise not to, not until Legolas was well again. 

“Will you please write to Lossarnach for me, and ask?” 

“Why don’t you wait until Faramir is well to be asking him to write letters, lamb?” Gimli recommended mildly, “Aragorn wants him to rest for now.” 

“Oh, yes, of course! I didn’t think of that,” Legolas apologized, “You were in quite a state just yesterday.”

“I hate to even think of it,” Faramir confessed, hoping that he hadn’t done anything too foolish that he couldn’t remember, “And I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. Or tonight, if it happens early.” 

“If what happens?” Legolas said, blinking in confusion. 

“The second part of the fever. Aragorn didn’t tell you?” 

“Oh, no. Am I going to get that sick again?” Legolas looked pale at even the thought. Faramir didn’t blame him. 

“No, lamb,” Gimli assured him, “Not quite as sick. At least not as long as you rest,” he added, giving Faramir a firm look. 

Which Faramir did not deign to acknowledge, “The second part isn’t supposed to be quite as bad as the first,” he confirmed, “But it can be dangerous if you go into it exhausted, or so Ada says.” 

“Ada?” Legolas repeated, with an amused, affectionate smile. 

Faramir blushed, “Yes, well, he is, isn’t he?” 

“Of course he is. It’s just nice to hear you say so.” 

Fortunately, Faramir thought that Aragorn had been pleased, too. 

“But why is it called Rose Fever?” Legolas returned to his earlier question. 

Faramir groaned and pushed his hair back, “First, for the rose shaped rash on the chest, and second, from the pink cheeks from the fever. As for the third reason, you don’t really want to know, my friend. Believe me.” The Steward didn’t think he was running a fever again, but his cheeks were blushing so fiercely that they felt as if they were on fire. Gimli, infuriatingly, was chuckling at Faramir’s discomfiture. 

“Why not?” 

“Would you like me to tell him, Faramir lad?” Gimli asked, his eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“No, Gimli, that’s quite alright,” Faramir said, torn between admiring irritation at the dwarf’s teasing and abashment at his own earlier comeuppance, “Legolas, as Aragorn put it to me this morning before he left me in the care of Senior Healer Landon, the course of Rose Fever leaves those suffering from it – usually small children – with a great deal of energy during the time in between the first and second high points of the fever.” 

“Yes, that makes sense,” Legolas agreed, “I feel like I could get up and ride out on a patrol again now.” 

“Over my dead body, laddie,” Gimli rebuked firmly. 

Legolas made a face, “I said I feel like I COULD, Elvellon. You and Aragorn have told me to rest, and I’m resting. I shouldn’t be in trouble for what I think I can do but wouldn’t actually try to do, should I?” 

“No, lamb, you won’t be in trouble for that,” Gimli affirmed in a more relaxed tone, “Just don’t get any ideas. It’s not like Faramir has been setting you a good example, after all.” 

“Yes, thank you, Gimli, I might have forgotten if you hadn’t reminded us,” said Faramir drolly. Which wasn’t entirely true, although Faramir was glad that his rear cheeks no longer seemed unpleasantly warm. 

Legolas favored him with another affectionate, amused smile, “You look and sound like your father whenever you say something sarcastic, did you know that, Faramir?” 

“No, I hadn’t. Do you really think so?” Faramir was oddly pleased by that. 

“Yes. Now, what does feeling better in the middle have to do with the name ‘Rose Fever?’”

Gimli chuckled again as Faramir sighed. There was nothing for it though. 

“According to Aragorn, child patients who have the fever are apt to get out of bed and run around to expend some energy during the mild middle stage,” Faramir explained, “Even though it’s not wise for them to do so, and can make the second crisis worse . . .” 

“And sometimes deadly,” Gimli pointed out unyieldingly. 

Faramir sighed and conceded, “Yes, and sometimes even deadly, although that is very rare.” 

“You still gave your father a scare,” Gimli reprimanded Faramir, “Not to mention giving that poor healer a bad morning. I understand that the matter at hand seemed urgent, Faramir. But it still wasn’t well-done of you.” 

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that,” Faramir said tightly. 

“Give it up, Elvellon. Faramir is as stubborn as his father, he won’t concede to you on this,” Legolas advised in a friendly fashion, defusing the slight tension in the room, “Now. The third reason?” 

“It should be rather obvious, lamb,” Gimli said, while Faramir blushed again, “What happens to children who get out of bed to play when their healer has told them not to?” 

“Oh. Oh!” Legolas said in sudden comprehension, giving Faramir a sympathetic look. 

“Aye,” Gimli confirmed with another chuckle, “They end up with rosy rear cheeks as well. As our Faramir can attest, can you not, laddie?” 

Faramir made a mental note to remember that Gimli was inclined to tease when repeatedly defied, and simply nodded, still blushing up a storm. 

“That wasn’t very nice of Aragorn,” Legolas said disapprovingly. 

“He wasn’t cruel about it,” Faramir assured Legolas, surprised at how fast he’d gone from being a little miffed with his father over the stinging spanking to standing up for him, “It wasn’t harsh. Just . . . a reminder. And he had warned me.” 

“If you pulled rank on a healer to get out of bed,” Legolas said with a mixture of awe and mild reproof, “then you are lucky that he went easy on you. I can’t even think of how Lord Elrond would have reacted to a child of his pulling rank on a healer!” 

“I think that our Aragorn is proud of his son’s dutifulness, as well as more worried for Faramir than upset with him,” Gimli pointed out kindly, “Although I’m sure that a repeat performance would garner a firmer reaction.” 

“Which you’ve kept me from testing, Gimli, so I suppose that I should be grateful to you for that,” said Faramir, torn between gratitude and annoyance, much as he’d been torn between irritated embarrassment at Aragorn’s high-handedness and reluctant admiration for his father’s cleverness when Aragorn had decided to stick him with Gimli as a babysitter. 

“As long as you rest and recover, and manage to be reasonably polite, Faramir lad, you can feel however you like,” Gimli offered. 

“Good of you,” Faramir said with a sigh, “I’ll try to be grateful. I’m really not at my best, and it’s left my temper uncertain. I’m sorry for that.” 

“It’s understandable in this case, lad. Don’t worry yourself about it,” Gimli said comfortingly. 

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a light dinner. That, Gimli did not send away. Faramir and Legolas dined on savory but light broth, rice, stewed fruit, and cherry ice. Legolas had tried to declined the last, but had been tempted into trying it and seemed pleased with the taste. 

“If you eat it more slowly, you won’t get a headache from the cold,” Faramir advised. 

“Yes, that’s what Sir Herdestir said too,” Legolas agreed. 

Faramir narrowed his eyes, “I suppose that I owe Herdestir my thanks as well. He was in my office when I arrived there, fetching a scroll that Herion had been using. Herdestir was the one who went to tell Aragorn that I was at work instead of in bed.” 

“Wise of Herdestir,” praised Gimli, who had gotten to like Herdestir better once the knight stopped flirting heavily with Legolas. 

Faramir hadn’t previously realized that Herdestir was fond of his fellow warriors in quite that way, but Captain-General Tavasond had known. He’d taken Faramir aside with him to have a word with Herdestir about his conduct with Legolas. After Faramir had informed Herdestir that Legolas wasn’t of age as the elves reckoned such things, Herdestir had been horrified by his own flirtatious behavior, and had sworn to remedy it immediately. Faramir had counseled Herdestir not to actually apologize to Legolas, as that would embarrass the elven prince, who did not like to be reminded of his age, but rather to just tone down his affection back into the realm of mere comradely friendship. Which Herdestir had done. 

After eating, Faramir fell back asleep. When he next woke he was feeling much worse again, but was fortunately in his own bed, with his father asleep beside him and Chief Healer Del reading in a chair beside the bed. Aragorn awoke at Faramir’s stirring to check his son’s temperature and get him to drink again. That pattern repeated throughout the night, except that Arwen was there sometimes instead of Aragorn, who was likely seeing to Legolas as well. 

Within a few days, both Faramir and Legolas were well recovered from Rose Fever, and back about their normal routines. Legolas had been frightened and worried to hear about Langwen’s and her family’s disappearance, but had readily forgiven Faramir for keeping his word to Aragorn and keeping the matter secret until Legoals was well recovered. It took a little longer for Legolas to forgive Aragorn and Gimli, but he did quickly enough, understanding that they had just been trying to protect him and help him regain his health. 

Faramir took a deep breath on the practice field of the Citadel on a First Day morning, pleased to have his health and be enjoying physical exertion again. 

“Ready?” he asked Legolas with a grin. 

“Ready,” the elf replied with an answering smile, and then they took off at their best pace across the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading our story! We’d love to know what you think if you are so inclined. With multi-chapter stories, the only way to know that people have read them and enjoyed them is if they leave a comment, because the kudos button only works once-per-story. 
> 
> We’d love any ideas you have for more plotlines or scenes or relationship building in this AU. We have another story in mind (with an outline drafted) which will continue some plot elements we’ve started alluding to in this story and the stories before, but new ideas are always welcome! I also need to pad out the Faramir-POV parts of this next story, and ideas for later stories might be a help with that! We definitely want to continue to develop the father-son relationships, and also the friendship between Legolas and Faramir.

**Author's Note:**

> We'd love to hear from you if you enjoyed this chapter!


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